


Beauty in the Dark

by Crystalshard



Category: Green Hornet (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalshard/pseuds/Crystalshard
Summary: There's a gambling ring operating in the city, and when the daughter of one of Britt's staff gets kidnapped, the Hornet is on the case!Meanwhile, Britt finds out that sometimes what you're looking for has been standing right beside you all along.(Note: The slash/smut is only in Chapter 2. For those here for the casefic, you can skip directly from Chapter 1 to the epilogue without missing any of the plot.)





	1. Breaking Prohibitions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kesomon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesomon/gifts).



A hand slapped five cards down on the old wooden table in triumph, its owner's stubbled chin lifting as he met the eyes of the other three men around the table. "Full house, queens over tens."

The other three, who were dressed in suits of expensive but poorly cut material, exchanged slow glances. There was an arrogance and confidence in those looks that was plain to see for any observer paying reasonable attention, a look that suggested that these men were not used to losing.

Unfortunately for the stubble-chinned gambler in mechanic's overalls, he wasn't paying attention. 

"Straight flush," the heavy-set man opposite the mechanic said casually. "Nine high."

The mechanic's shoulders slumped, desperate calculation showing unshielded on his face. 

The man to his left nodded, pulling out a small, thick book with a worn brown leather cover. In the dim lighting of the underground room, it was hard to see what was written in it, but the headlights of a passing car sprayed through the tiny barred window high on one wall and illuminated a neat line of bookkeeper's figures. "That adds another tidy little sum to your debts, Mr. McKenna. Looks like you owe us something in excess of five thousand dollars now." 

The mechanic's shoulders slumped, desperate calculation showing unshielded on his face. "I can pay it. Just give me a week, I'll have the money." 

"By tomorrow, Mr. McKenna," the third man said, his dark moustache scrunching in a sneer. "By tomorrow, or we'll turn up the heat." 

With a last agonized look, McKenna stumbled to his feet and left the table. His quick footsteps were loud on the age-darkened wooden stairs that led upwards, and the man with the notebook nodded at the other two. "Charlie, keep an eye on Mr. Victor McKenna. Make sure he makes it home safely and gets a good night's sleep. You know the address." 

Charlie nodded, getting up from the table. The unspoken orders were clear; follow McKenna home, and make sure he doesn't call anyone. Charlie's boots creaked more deliberately on the old wood, and outside the two remaining men could hear a car engine starting.

"Hank, how cooperative do you think that Mr. McKenna is going to be?" 

Hank scratched at his moustache with his thumb. "I wouldn't bet on him coming up with the goods, Jimmy." 

Nodding, Jimmy snapped the notebook shut. "Then make sure that storeroom is secure. I don't want our . . . guest . . . to leave before we let them." 

"That storeroom held up to Prohibition-era raids, Jimmy. Nobody's going to find it, let alone open it." 

"Check anyway," Jimmy said mildly as he tucked the book back into the inside pocket of his suit. 

Hank flipped Jimmy a lazy salute, then got up and headed towards the back of the room, trailing his gloved fingers along the disused bar that took up most of the back wall. Dark stains of old alcohol were still evident on the wood, varnish stripped away from years of spilled moonshine and indifferent polishing. The taps no longer functioned; there were no barrels left to connect to. All that stood behind the bar now was a short row of liquor bottles and the collection of glasses and tumblers that went with each. After all, it was a point of pride for Jimmy and the others to keep track of their regulars' favorite drinks. 

* * *

". . . and Mike Axford said that he was _sure_ it was the Green Hornet that time, so he went off to investigate it," Linda Howard said to the table, rolling her eyes. "I swear, you could write 'Green Hornet' on a rubber ball and he'd chase it. Newshound indeed." 

The rest of the women eating lunch at that particular commissary table, Casey among them, laughed. "Oh, don't be too hard on the poor man," Casey said chidingly, pointing her fork at Linda. "He's a fine reporter, despite his focus on the Hornet. And criminal activity _does_ make good stories." 

"But why won't he report on anything _else_?" Linda asked in exasperation, setting her cutlery down a little too hard on the tray in front of her. "What about that gambling racket we've been hearing rumors of recently, or the art thefts? Surely those are just as worthy of investigation?" 

Casey's sharp eyes caught a twitch at the far end of the table, and a quick glance identified the woman as Anna McKenna. There were dark circles under Anna's eyes, signs of strain in her tense shoulders and the creases on her brow. "I'm sure they are, but let's leave those decisions to the reporters, shall we? Anyway, Mike's on holiday this week. Something about needing a little fresh air instead of city smog." She artfully glanced down at her empty plate. "Did anyone see what's for dessert today?" 

"Apple pie and vanilla ice cream," Anna offered, as Casey had known she would. Of all the women in the Sentinel's secretarial pool, Anna had the biggest sweet tooth among them. 

"Oh, well, I can't miss that," Casey said cheerfully. "Anna, do you want me to get some for you? Anyone else?" 

The other four made polite noises of negation, standing up and gathering their purses. "Thanks for the offer, but I've got too much work to do," Linda said with a rueful smile. "Robbins has got me transcribing interviews, and that man will _never_ remember to put the tape recorder close enough." 

The women laughed again, and Casey bestowed a smile on Anna. "I'll be right back," she said. And, as promised, she returned with two plates of apple pie and ice cream. "Here. If you'll forgive me for saying so, you look like you need a bit of a pick-me up." 

Anna directed a wobbly smile at Casey. "It shows that badly, huh?" 

"Just a little," Casey admitted. "Is there anything I can help with? A problem shared is a problem halved, you know." 

"I . . . I don't know." Anna applied herself to her apple pie, and Casey did the same. There was no point in pressing her for answers; either Anna would say something, or she wouldn't. 

It was only when Anna was down to pushing the last few bits of the pie around her plate that Casey's patience paid off. "What Linda said about the gambling racket . . . I think my husband's caught up in it. Victor's been going out at odd hours, taking money we've been putting aside for our daughter's future." 

"Emily, isn't it?" Casey asked gently. 

Anna shot her a surprised look, as if she hadn't expected Casey to remember that. "Yes, that's right. She's just turned seventeen, and I'm afraid that . . . that . . ." 

"That you might end up too deeply in debt to help her?" 

Anna flinched, but nodded miserably. "Yes." 

"Do you have any proof that your husband's involved in the gambling ring?" 

Glancing around furtively, Anna picked up her purse and took out a pack of cards. The backs were an unusual pattern, a stylized C surrounded by a diamond pattern of crowbars. "He brought these home one night. I was going to see if any of the printers in the city had made them, and maybe find out where he got them from." 

Casey flipped the card in her hand over. It was the Joker, and the painted face sneered at her from behind a dark moustache. "Do you mind if I keep these? If Victor really is involved in something that dangerous, I wouldn't want you to get in trouble." 

Anna's eyes widened, as if she hadn't thought of that. "Sure, keep them. Just . . . please tell me if you find anything?" 

"I promise," Casey assured her, turning the card over once again. 

* * *

"Mr. Reid? Are you busy?" 

Britt looked up from the editorial he was writing, white teeth flashing in a smile. "Not so much that I can't take a few minutes. What is it, Miss Case? Problems?" 

Casey carefully closed the door behind herself. "You could say that. I was having lunch with the girls from the secretarial pool, and one of them gave me these. It might be a lead into that gambling ring Scanlon told you about." She handed Britt one of the playing cards from the pack that Anna had given her, and watched his eyebrows go up in surprise. 

"I'm not sure how you managed this, Casey, but very well done. A design like this will have had to be custom-printed. I can go around the print shops, show them this. See how they react." Britt tapped the card against his fingers thoughtfully, and Casey knew that her boss wasn't intending to go as Britt Reid. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked. 

"Yes. Get me a list of all the printers in the city who have the ability to make something like this, and find out when they close. I need to get on the phone to Scanlon." 

"Very well, Mr. Reid," was all Casey said. However, as she turned away, a small smile of triumph curved her lips. 

* * *

The lights inside the parking garage switched to green, the familiar rumble-whirr sounding as Britt's convertible rotated out of sight and the Black Beauty showed her face again. The Green Hornet patted her door absently as he got in, the movement so automatic by now that he and Kato were perfectly in sync as they seated themselves and closed the doors. "Hornet gun, check. Hornet sting, check. Let's roll, Kato." 

* * *

It wasn't until they broke into the fourth printer's that they struck metaphorical gold. 

The rising scream of the Hornet sting ended in the familiar explosion as the formerly locked door to the workshop burst open. Standing against the wall was a small man squinting in terror through coke-bottle glasses, a knocked-over chair by a small drawing table implying that he'd been working on poster designs until only moments ago. 

"Recognize this?" the Green Hornet growled, tossing one of the cards at his feet. 

The man, trembling and not taking his eyes off the masked pair, crouched down to pick it up. A moment's glance at the back made his eyes widen, and he shook his head frantically. "N-no. Never seen this before." 

"You're lying." The Green Hornet stepped forward, and the little man seemed to be trying to meld his spine with the wall. 

"I can't! They'll kill me if I tell you!" Behind the thick lenses, the man's eyes were dating from side to side, clearly looking for an escape route. 

"While I might _not_ kill you if you tell me what I want to know." Behind him, the Hornet sensed Kato shifting, apparently ready to pounce on their source should he show signs of trying to run. 

The man's frantic headshaking had his glasses apparently on the verge of falling off. "I can't! I know your reputation, Green Hornet! Men who cross paths with you end up either dead or in jail!" 

"Only if they lie to me." The growl deepened another notch. "Who commissioned those cards, and where can I find them?" 

The little man hung his head. "The Campbell brothers. Hank Campbell ordered them. The address he gave was this abandoned munitions factory on the outskirts of the city. That's all I know, I swear!" 

When the little man looked up, the two masked men were gone. 

* * * 

"An old munitions factory? Are you sure?" Scanlon asked, frowning. 

"That's what our witness said last night," Britt replied equably. "I don't think he was lying." 

"There _is_ a factory that matches that description on the east side of town," Scanlon said thoughtfully. "It's been abandoned for years, used to have a nice little sideline going as a speakeasy during the Prohibition years. I'll get you the address. Are you planning on investigating it tonight?" 

Britt nodded. "The sooner we get this shut down, the better." 

"All right. I'll have police cars standing by." Scanlon readjusted his glasses and sighed. "Good luck, Britt." 

Taking the hint, Kato went to the bookshelf and pulled out the three key books that brought the hidden elevator into the room. As Scanlon rose into the ceiling, the merrily burning fireplace returning to its usual position, Kato perched on the edge of Britt's desk. "So. What is the plan?" 

"The usual, I suppose." Britt leaned back on his desk, nearly shoulder to shoulder with the man who'd become his best and most trusted friend. "Talk to the Campbell brothers, tell them the Hornet wants in on the game, see what we can find in the way of evidence." 

Kato nodded. "After you leave for the Sentinel today, I'll make sure that the Black Beauty is ready for tonight." 

Britt clapped a grateful hand on Kato's shoulder. "Thanks, Kato. I don't know what I'd do without you." 

* * * 

Later that day, in an underground room illuminated by buzzing overhead lights and a stab of sunlight through a high, barred window, a hand picked up the receiver of a ringing telephone. The owner of the hand listened for a moment.

"Good work. I'll see you . . . and our guest . . . soon." 

The receiver clunked back into its cradle. "Hank! Charlie's on his way." 

"Good!" came the answering shout from further back in the room. "We should have done this weeks ago." 

"And if it was up to you, Hank, the cops would have _caught_ us weeks ago," Jimmy said, smirking at his brother. "No. Patience gets you everything." 

* * * 

It was the stifled sob that alerted Casey. 

She'd visited the ladies' room to, as the euphemism went, powder her nose. The cubicle next to hers had been locked all through her visit, but she'd thought nothing of it until she'd heard the quiet whimper. The sound had almost been drowned out by the splash of water in the basin as she washed her hands – almost, but not quite.

"Hello?" Casey said carefully. "Are you okay in there?" 

There was a sniffle from the woman behind the locked door. 

Casey made an intuitive leap. "Anna?" 

There was another hiccupping sob, and then the bolt clicked aside. The door opened to reveal a tear-streaked Anna McKenna, and Casey instinctively took her elbow and led her to the wooden dining-room chair that had somehow migrated into the ladies' a few years ago. 

"You sit right there," Casey said reassuringly. "I'll fetch you a glass of water." She was away for less than a minute, and had the presence of mind to stick the 'closed for cleaning' sign on the door as she re-entered the little room. "Here, drink this." 

Anna took the glass with a nod of thanks and a trembling hand, and she sipped shakily at the liquid. "It's . . . it's Emily," she said, unprompted. "Victor just called me . . . he says she's been kidnapped! They left a letter with the ransom demand on it." 

"How much?" Casey asked softly. 

"F-five thousand dollars. They said to leave it in a bag in the park by dawn, or we'll never see our d-daughter again . . ." A fresh wave of sobbing overtook Anna, and Casey patted her shoulder. 

"It'll be okay, Anna. Mr. Reid will help. He doesn't approve of people trying to blackmail his staff." 

* * *

Night had long since fallen when the Black Beauty purred to a stop outside the abandoned factory. "Scanlon has the McKennas giving evidence at the station. We shouldn't be interrupted," the Green Hornet said briskly, the car doors clicking closed behind he and Kato as they stepped out into the night air. 

"Good. This is no place for foolish heroics." Kato's eyes were serious behind his mask. 

"Isn't that what we do?" the Hornet asked innocently, and was rewarded with the slightest hint of a smile on Kato's face. 

The glitter of light reflecting off chrome drew their attention. Another car, a brand new Dodge Charger with dust on its rear bumper and smudges on its doors, gleamed at them from out of the open door of a stone-built, stand-alone garage that must once have been a storehouse. A rusted trolley, lying on its side in the gravel-strewn tarmac to the side of the building, gave credence to that theory. 

The two of them prowled quietly into the echoing hulk of the old factory through an empty doorway. Only the twisted remains of hinges and a cracked hole in the concrete wall where the lock had once secured itself showed them where the door had once hung; the door itself was nowhere to be seen. 

Inside, it was dark, moonlight casting a dim glow through the translucent roof and faintly illuminating the inside. The corrugated plastic sheeting that roofed the building was caked with dirt that the rain hadn't managed to wash away, the construction testament to its former function as a munitions factory. Here, the walls were thick but the roof was light so that any accidental explosion would go _up_ and not _sideways._

As their eyes adapted to the dark, they could see that the old machinery was still rusting here. Apparently somebody had decided that this place made for a perfect dumping ground. Tangles of wire and broken wood, looking like old rolled-up fences, were draped over the machines and conveyor belt in lax, drunken idleness. Old pieces of furniture, tables and chairs and cabinets and a dusty set of tablecloths that had come partially unfolded, were scattered around, marks of its later life as the speakeasy that Scanlon had told them about. 

"Can you see anything?" the Hornet whispered to Kato. 

"Yes. Over there." Kato pointed at a glow that was only visible once they'd rounded the main mass of debris, the snapping flicker of old fluorescent tubes coming up through the hole in the floor. On closer inspection, said hole proved to be a staircase. Kato glanced back, his dark eyes gleaming behind his mask, and quietly said, "Let me go first." 

The Hornet nodded. It was a narrow staircase, and they couldn't see the other end. It was reasonable to assume that it ended in the plain sight of the villains they'd come to deal with. "Okay." 

Kato stole downwards, head high and alert, hands held ready for trouble as he used the sides of the steps to walk downwards. Faint creaks accompanied him, and the Hornet barely waited for him to be out of the way before he followed in his friend's footsteps, the supported edges less likely to be noisy than the center where the haphazardly finished planks would bend the most. 

He abandoned silence in favor of speed when he heard Kato's throaty, staccato yell and the unmistakable dull thud of flesh hitting flesh. Taking the steps two at a time, he launched off the bottom step headlong into a mustachioed man who'd been trying to creep around behind Kato. The Green Hornet might not hold the lethal grace and seemingly effortless fighting style of the man who drove the Black Beauty, but he had his own skill and strength and a couple of punches cut his opponent down to a groaning heap on the floor. Kato had already grounded the man he'd been fighting, a taller and more muscular specimen who looked as if he was twice the body mass of the compact martial artist. 

"Hardly a friendly way to greet a potential business partner," the Hornet said equitably to the last man, who had been sitting the entire time at a square table in the middle of the otherwise empty floor. 

"You'll forgive me for not trusting you on sight, Green Hornet," the man said dryly. "I take it you want in on our little operation?" 

The Hornet nodded once, never taking his eyes off the man at the table. "Nothing onerous, Campbell. Ten percent of the take." 

"And what do we get in return, aside from you not exposing us to the cops? Seems like a one-sided bargain from here, Hornet." 

The Hornet almost had to admire the man's ability to bargain coolly in the face of the threat that he and Kato represented. "I have certain . . . contacts. Sources on clients potentially more lucrative than two-bit mechanics and shop assistants." 

Campbell looked interested. "Then I'd say we have a deal. And it's Jimmy." He held out a hand, and the Hornet shook it. Jimmy met his eyes with the honest gaze of born liars and politicians, and it was mirrored with a smirk by the man in the green mask as he withdrew his hand. 

There was movement behind the Hornet, and he whirled to see the two men on the floor getting to their feet. Kato was watching them too, poised and guarded. They seemed uninterested in further violence, however, edging around to reach the table and two of the other chairs. 

"Your assumptions are a little off," Jimmy continued. "The penny-ante guys can build up quite a bit of debt. They don't think it's much, but it accumulates. We've got one guy owes us five thousand bucks." 

The Hornet snorted, shoulders tensing fractionally at the confirmation that yes, these _were_ the men that Victor McKenna had been gambling with. "I'll believe that when I see it." 

"I have proof," Jimmy said with a shrug.

It was difficult to affect an air of indifference, but the Hornet managed it. "Oh? What kind of proof?" 

It seemed that the urge to show off had overcome Jimmy's prudence. The gambler dipped his hand into an inside pocket, laughing at the way that the masked duo tensed. "Relax, Hornet. It's just a book." And indeed it was; a small leather-bound book that flipped open to reveal Victor McKenna's name written neatly at the top of the page. 

The Hornet ran a practiced eye over the columns of numbers, coming to rest on the total at the bottom. "I see. You think he's going to pay up?" 

"Oh, we know he will," the man with the moustache said, flicking open his lighter and touching it to what the Hornet's nose informed him was a cheap cigarette. The self-satisfied sneer on his face sparked a growing desire in the Hornet to punch it off his face, but he tamped it down. 

"Oh? How?" the Hornet challenged, shoulders rolling back as he leaned forward in a calculated display of aggression. 

Jimmy nodded to the muscle. "Charlie, fetch our guest out here." 

The Hornet watched as Charlie thudded across the room, those large fingers touching a catch that was invisible from where he was standing. A section of wall swung aside, and it was only then that he realized that it was no wall at all, but a cleverly concealed door. Charlie disappeared momentarily into the pitch darkness behind the door, emerging carrying not only the 'guest' but the chair she was bound to. 

Heavy duct tape bound her feet to the legs of the chair; more tape secured her arms to the sides, and another piece sealed her mouth shut. She was wincing away from the light, but when she opened her eyes, they were wide and unblinking. Her gaze flickered from side to side, likely seeking an escape route even now. 

Charlie lowered the chair with surprising tenderness in a spot just below the high window, patting the young woman on the head. She flinched away from him, the fear turning to anger in her eyes. 

"Who's that? His daughter?" the Hornet asked, managing to sound almost bored by the whole thing. 

"Got it in one," Jimmy agreed, pointing an approving finger at him. "If McKenna pays up, she gets returned safe and sound. If not . . . well." 

The man with the cigarette snickered, and Jimmy turned a glare on him. "Can it, Hank. There's a lady present." 

Hank shrugged, unconcerned, but his eyes roved over the captive girl in a way that made the Hornet feel unclean. Hating himself for doing it, he let himself assess her as if she were one of the lingerie models at the Pony Club. 

"Pretty little bit of a thing," he said thoughtfully. "You know, if McKenna doesn't ransom her back, I might be tempted to take her off your hands." 

Jimmy looked a little surprised, but the expression was covered in moments by calculation. "Well now, that might solve a few problems, but letting her go alive means she has a chance of escaping. I don't know if we can risk that." 

"I thought you were gamblers," the Hornet fired back. "Don't you take risks every day?" 

Hank laughed. "I like you, Hornet. Hey Jimmy, what say we play for her? One hand of cards. If he wins, he gets the girl; if we do, she's ours." 

"Now wait a minute," the Hornet protested. "Three against one is hardly fair." 

"It's what we usually play," Jimmy said flatly. "So are you in, or out?" 

The Hornet glanced over at the girl – Emily, Casey had said her name was – and nodded. "I'll play." 

"Excellent. Sit down, Charlie will get you a drink. What do you like, Mr. Hornet?" 

"Nothing. I don't drink on the job," the Hornet said bluntly as he pulled the last remaining chair out and sat down. Behind him, he half saw and half sensed Kato approaching, his faithful shadow having apparently been forgotten in the background. The Hornet betrayed not a flicker as his friend ghosted aside to watch from a discreet distance, standing close enough that he could help immediately should things devolve into a fight. 

"Not even lemonade? Little brother will drink nothing but," Hank laughed as Jimmy dealt the cards, the quick snap of the ringleader's wrist betraying long experience with the movements. The Hornet tried to track Jimmy's fingers, but the gambler was too quick for him. If he was dealing from the bottom of the pack, it wasn't obvious. 

Glancing at his cards, he could see that he had a reasonably high pair already. Pairs counted for little in poker, though, so he set his face into his best waxwork impression and played. 

"All right. Moment of truth," Jimmy said after a while. "You first, Hornet." 

"Flush, jack high," the Hornet said tersely, spreading out five diamond cards on the table. Hank pulled out another cigarette and his lighter after resting his hand on the table – nothing, no decent cards at all. Charlie had been slightly luckier, holding three of a kind, but nothing that could beat a flush. 

Jimmy shrugged. "Four of . . ." he began. His sentence trailed off as Kato's hand slammed into his wrist.

"He had a card up his sleeve," Kato said contemptuously, tossing the queen of clubs onto the table. A card which the Hornet knew very well was supposed to be in the discard pile, since he'd had it in his hand up until a few moments ago. 

"You cheated." The chair behind the Hornet clattered to the floor as he stood abruptly. 

Charlie and Hank followed him, Hank's cigarette dropping to the floor amid a flutter of cards.  
Jimmy growled and yanked his arm out of Kato's grip. "Get them!" 

The Hornet weighed in with a punch, feeling the familiar wild relief of violence, an impulse that Britt Reid could never admit to but that the Green Hornet could indulge in whenever he had reason. Jimmy's head snapped aside, but he stayed up, and the Hornet barely felt the blow Jimmy dealt in return. 

As the five men brawled across the old cellar, Hank's abandoned cigarette caught the card it was lying on. At first there was only the burned-paper smolder of overheated cardboard tinged with tar and nicotine, but it burst into flames only seconds later. The fire spread to another card, and then to the tinder-dry boards that lined the packed-earth floor. The table caught with a _whoomph_ as flames licked up its legs, old varnish and dry wood going up like a torch.

There was no certainty of who noticed the blaze first; the Campbell brothers seemed to spot it at about the same time as the Green Hornet and Kato. The brothers apparently valued self-preservation over fisticuffs, and hurried up the narrow stairs. 

The Hornet made a fast decision. "Go! Follow them! I'll get Emily loose." 

Kato hesitated. "I should . . ." 

_"Go!"_

Kato went. The Hornet, already able to feel the heat pouring off the encroaching flames, doubled back for Emily. The young woman had not been idle while the fight was going on; she'd managed to break a leg off the chair, and now was standing in an awkwardly hunched pose, inching determinedly across the floor. 

He hadn't expected the glare of rage and hate that Emily fixed on him, but that would have to wait. "Hold still. I'm going to get you out of here," he told her, reaching up and ripping the duct tape off her mouth. She gave a pained squeak as he did so, but seemed more or less unharmed. 

"Get me out of here? I know what _you_ want, Green Hornet," she spat. 

"Right now, I want to get you out of this chair," he said, mouth pursing into a straight line. "I don't have time to unwind the tape. Do you know if there's a knife around here?" 

She considered him for an agonizingly long moment. "Behind the counter," she said at last, nodding towards the old bar. "When the big one kidnapped me, he put his knife down there." 

The Hornet smiled at her briefly, then ran back for the knife. The fire was starting to consume more of the floor, widening the burning lake between them and the stairs up. 

The knife was heavy and unwieldy in the Hornet's hand, but it was sharp enough to serve its purpose. Emily cooperatively held still as he cut her bonds, a gesture of either trust or desperation. There was still tape on her wrists and ankles when she stood up straight, nodded at her rescuer . . . and slapped him hard across the face. Luckily for him, his mask was firmly hooked behind his ears, and it didn't budge. 

"What was that for?" he asked, startled and a little indignant. 

"For looking at me and talking about me like a piece of meat." She coughed, the accumulating smoke an acrid scent and a tickle in the throat, and the Hornet became abruptly aware of the second and more dangerous threat. This had not been a good day to leave the gas masks in the car. 

"We need to get out of here," he said, his gaze drawn to the window. The staircase that was now ablaze was acting as a chimney, drawing the smoke away from them a little to give them a very literal bit of breathing room. They'd find no escape via _that_ particular route. He tossed the knife aside – no need for it now – and drew the Hornet sting that had broken though so many doors. Perhaps it could do the same with the brickwork surrounding the sturdy bars. 

The sting whined, the glass up above the bars shattering into fine-grained fragments but not doing much about the cement. He tried again, gaining little more in the way of results, and winced as the new exit began to attract curls of gray smoke. 

Abruptly, a lemony-smelling towel was shoved in his face, and he blinked in surprise. 

"Here. It'll help with the smoke," Emily said, muffled behind the equally wet towel that she was holding over her own mouth and nose. 

The Hornet let his eyebrows raise in surprise as he shielded his face. Lemonade was a significant improvement over wood smoke, and he took a grateful breath of somewhat cleaner air. "Good thinking. I must say, I'm impressed. I thought you'd be terrified by all this." 

"I'll have hysterics later. No time now," Emily said, her fingers clutching her skirt in a white-knuckled grip. 

It was getting too hot, and the Hornet felt sweat beading on his skin as the thick coat he wore simultaneously protected him and held in the heat. It wouldn't protect him from everything, though, and it certainly wouldn't shield Emily. He couldn't see a way out. 

Trapped. 

* * * 

Kato caught up with the brothers in the garage, yanking Hank out of the driving seat of the Dodge Charger and neatly flooring him with a combination kick to the stomach and elbow to the head. He didn't bother holding back, this time; Britt was in trouble, and he needed to make sure that his friend survived. He couldn't see a future without being by Britt's side, helping him make the city a little safer while its honest citizens slept. 

Charlie loomed up behind him and he kicked backwards with a shout, shoving all of the air out of the big man and leaving him struggling for breath on the floor. 

He whirled to face Jimmy, then stilled as his eyes caught on the sleek black barrel of the revolver in Jimmy's hand. 

"Didn't expect an ace up my sleeve, did you?" Jimmy taunted, shuffling closer, the muzzle of the gun pointed directly at Kato's face. Kato's eyes flicked between the revolver and its wielder, silently thinking, _yes, come closer._ Jimmy, meanwhile, was still talking. "You know, I'm amazed that you don't carry a weapon, being the Green Hornet's bodyguard." 

Jimmy moved another step closer, and Kato went from a relaxed, easy posture to a blur of motion. He slapped the gun aside, Jimmy's reflexes too slow for him to pull the trigger in time, and the revolver discharged into the wall as it clattered to the ground. Jimmy was unconscious in the time that it took the next round to rotate into the chamber. 

Charlie was back on his feet by then, and Kato felt a kind of fierce joy at the opportunity for a little more rapid stress relief. He bounced onto the hood of the Dodge and leapt at the taller man, a blow to the back of the neck ensuring that Charlie would be out for quite a while. "I _am_ the weapon," he said aloud, his voice holding a tinge of contempt for the man who'd thought that a mere gun could dissuade him. Said revolver was picked up carefully and the safety catch engaged. Kato was no great fan of firearms, but Britt was, and the publisher had waxed enthusiastic about his collection often enough that Kato knew the basics of gun safety. 

Thinking ahead, Kato flicked open Jimmy's jacket and extracted the damning notebook, blatant proof for the police of their crimes. A few more moments, begrudged but necessary, saw Kato removing the keys from the Dodge's ignition. Conveniently, the keys to the garage doors were on the keychain as well, so Kato prudently locked the three brothers into the small structure. They'd be safe enough in there, well away from the fire that was, by now, providing a faint orange glow to the scene. 

There was no way to re-enter where he had before; the debris inside the factory was burning merrily, gouts of smoke billowing out of open doors and through a hole in the roof. And . . . out of the ground, somewhere to the side of the building? 

Kato ran for the Black Beauty, tossing the gun and the keys on the driveway where the police would find them. The notebook he kept; it was too important to risk being lost. 

Not more important than Britt, though. 

* * *

There was a clinking noise above them. 

The Green Hornet looked up to see two familiar, sturdy grappling hooks fastened firmly to the bars. There was a roar of an equally familiar engine, and then the ropes went under tension as the Black Beauty crept forward. The bars groaned, shrieked, bent . . . and finally came away completely, leaving just enough space for a broad-shouldered man to squeeze through. 

"Come here, I'll boost you up," the Hornet ordered, and Emily nodded. She set her foot in his linked hands, bending her knees and reaching for the window as he lifted her. The weight of a girl nearly fully grown was no inconsequential thing, and the near-unbearable heat sapped both strength and thought as he gritted his teeth. 

The weight straining the Hornet's back and arms was suddenly lifted away. He coughed, dropping the swiftly drying towel to the floor. _Kato_. Glancing behind him, he could barely see the room any more, smoke and fire an impenetrable haze that was creeping closer like a mugger after his wallet. 

Emily's shoes had only just cleared the gap before he jumped for it. His fingers scrabbled on broken concrete, the sandy stuff slipping under his hands and threatening to dump him back into the burning cellar. He got a grip, lost it, and somehow snatched it back. A distant part of him was grateful to the gloves he wore even as the leather acquired nicks and cuts in the place of fragile skin. 

A solid grip closed around his wrists, black gloves that matched his own holding tight even as the Hornet awkwardly returned the grasp. His shoes scrabbled against the wall, lending a little extra push as Kato dragged him through the former window and out into miraculously cool, clean air. Standing up was too much effort, and he leaned on the Beauty's trunk and coughed as his lungs attempted to rid themselves of every trace of smoke. Not far away, he could hear Emily doing the same. 

A whine of sirens in the distance recalled him to where he was, and he pushed himself upright. "We should . . . we should get you home," he said to the teenager. More brain cells returned sluggishly to life, and he turned to Kato and asked, "What did you do with Jimmy and his brothers?" 

"They're parked for the night," Kato said with a satisfied smile, gesturing at the garage. The Hornet chuckled, the laugh turning into another cough.

"I'll stay here," Emily contradicted as she straightened up from where she'd been bent over with her hands on her knees. "Someone has to explain things to the police. But . . . thank you. You saved my life." 

She stretched up on tiptoe, her lips landing butterfly-light on the Hornet's cheek below his mask. He blinked at her, utterly bemused as she stepped back. 

"And do you know, I believe I took the most awful knock on the head. I can't remember a thing since those dreadful men locked me in that storage closet. Except they _were_ discussing something that they kept in the old garage." She smiled tentatively. 

"Here," Kato said unexpectedly. "Give this to the police. It is better that you have it." He pressed the leather notebook into her hands, and her fingers closed around it automatically. She glanced inside, then looked up with a wobbly grin.

"I guess it _would_ look a little strange for the Green Hornet to hand over evidence," she said, her voice as shaky as her smile.

"You're a brave girl, Emily," the Hornet said with a respectful nod as Kato got into the driver's seat and restarted the engine. "Good luck." 

Kato pulled the car away as soon as the Hornet threw himself into the back seat, the wail of fire trucks and police sirens fading as they decamped in the opposite direction. Lifting one hand to touch the side of his face, still too warm from the heat of the flames, he checked to make sure that the mask hadn't cut into his face when Emily had hit him. "Have you ever thought of taking an apprentice? Girl's got a mean swing." 

Kato snorted and said nothing. The Hornet let the silence linger for a moment, then sighed.

"Let's go home, Kato."


	2. Removing Inhibitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it goes into slash/smut territory. Those of you who are here for the gen, please skip straight to the epilogue. Those who are here for the smut, enjoy!

Britt leaned back against the smooth leather of the Black Beauty's rear seats, cooling sweat prickling under his mask and the adrenaline thrum of a successful night's work surging in his veins. He could still feel the licking heat of the fire on his skin, and his breath stuttered slightly as he remembered how he had been sure he was about to die. Death was an ever-present threat in his self-appointed role as the Green Hornet, but rarely was it so viscerally brought home. He could still smell the lemon scent when he inhaled, and wondered how long it would be before lemons wouldn't remind him of fire and smoke.

"Are you okay?" 

Kato's question snapped him out of the memory with a jolt, and he opened his eyes. "I'm fine, Kato." 

"You're sure? No headaches, nausea, dizziness?"

Britt took a moment to think about it, then shook his head. "No. Emily made a couple of filters out of bar towels and lemonade, and most of the smoke was going the other way." The more in-depth reassurance received no response, bringing a silence that Britt usually let settle during the drive home. Tonight, though, Britt felt the need to keep talking. "I was just thinking that we did good work tonight. It'll be some time before anyone from that gambling den gets out of prison." 

"Another success for the Green Hornet," Kato said, the subtle ring of triumph only there to be deciphered by someone who knew him as well as Britt did. 

" _And_ for his masked accomplice," Britt pointed out, a smile curving on his lips. There was contented air of smugness from the front seat, a quiet pool of satisfaction into which Britt's next words settled like stepping stones. "You know, I feel this calls for a celebratory drink. Why don't you join me in the lounge when you've finished putting the Black Beauty away, and we can break into that bottle of fine aged Scotch I got for my birthday?" 

"That sounds good," Kato allowed. Britt, looking into the rear-view mirror, saw the corners of his friend's mouth curl up in one of those subtle smiles that Britt loved to coax out of him. 

The rest of the ride home was quiet until the Black Beauty rolled smoothly into the hidden garage, coming to a stop so gently that Britt barely felt it. 

 

"I'll be there in a moment," Kato said, waving him away as he started the post-mission checks on the Beauty. It was standard operating procedure for them; while Britt changed into his normal clothes and hid the Hornet gear, keeping up the façade that he was nothing more than he seemed, Kato looked after the car and tidied up any lingering clues. 

It normally took Kato longer to check the Beauty than it did for Britt to change, so Britt was halfway into two fingers of golden whiskey before Kato arrived. The other man was sans cap and mask and wearing his understated white valet's uniform, the consummate professional right down to the details. The outfit suited him, Britt decided in an odd moment of adrenaline-fed clarity. The two sides of the man, secret and public, and looking equally at ease with both. 

Shaking off the thought, he gestured to the second glass sitting on the gleaming black bar top, identical to his own bar the fact that it was untouched. The mostly-full bottle stood next to it, and perhaps it said something that it was still there instead of tucked neatly back in with its fellow spirits. 

Kato picked up the glass with a nod of thanks and sipped the fine vintage respectfully, as it deserved. "Is there any particular occasion we're celebrating tonight?" he asked, rounding the end of the low gray-beige couch and settling back on the part that faced the cold fireplace. The couch wrapped around two sides of the coffee table at the center with a matching armchair to the left, Britt's usual seat whenever he wasn't at his desk. Tonight, though, he'd opted for the more casual comfort of the couch and seated himself directly opposite his armchair. 

"Oh, surviving," Britt said casually, hoping that Kato's sharp ears hadn't heard the slight quaver in his voice. "I think that after tonight, we deserve a little loosening up." 

"Ah. To surviving, then." Kato held his glass up in a toast, and Britt echoed it. 

* * *

Usually, Britt found falling asleep easy after a night out in the guise of the Green Hornet. There was something about the aftermath of the mingled adrenaline-and-triumph cocktail of having beaten the crooks at their own game that generally gave him the deepest and most restful night's sleep he ever had, something that won out over mere physical exhaustion. Sometimes he felt that perhaps he should feel worse about those who died, but . . . while he was sad that there had been deaths, he'd seen too many in his time as the Green Hornet to let it affect him. 

No-one had died this time, but for some reason Britt still couldn't sleep. The fur bedspread seemed stifling, and he eventually kicked it off with a huff. The touch of blessedly cool air on his bare chest and arms was a welcome shock, calming the restlessness for a minute or two before he flung himself onto his back with a frustrated noise. Sleep was clearly not going to happen without some assistance tonight. He'd left that bottle of Scotch on the bar in the living room; perhaps another glass of that and a good book would help him wind down. 

With that decided, Britt slipped out of bed, the cuffs of the loose pajama pants he wore brushing his ankles. The light in Kato's room was dark, and Britt walked past his friend's door as quietly as he could. Waking Kato would be very inconsiderate after all the work that the other man had done earlier. 

Britt had only just stepped off the stairs when a muffled noise made him look up. Movement by the couch made him crouch down, peering suspiciously through the potted plants. He caught a flash of bare skin, heard a stifled gasp, and suddenly everything fell into place. For a moment, he was shocked into stillness until reason began to reassert itself. He'd taken care of his own needs before; why should it bother him if Kato did the same? 

_He's not in the privacy of his own room, though,_ a voice whispered. _He's on your couch, where anyone could see him if the curtains were open, with his hand down his pants._ Black pajama shorts, and Britt had rarely seen so much of Kato's skin on display like that. Almost unconsciously, he stood back up, eyes fixed on the scene in front of him.

Kato's compact, powerful body was writhing on the cushions, head bent back and his hips bucking into the curl of his hand. His eyes were closed, the noises coming from his open mouth not dissimilar from the ones he made while fighting, and Britt knew that he'd never be able to hear those sounds the same way again. He could sense the build of tension even from across the room, heat brushing unbidden down his spine as his body reacted to the evidence of desire. Britt's fingers clutched the stair banister rail, unable to retreat up the stairs and incapable of moving forwards. 

_"Britt,"_ Kato whispered, the sound carrying clearly across to where Britt was standing. Britt's breath hitched in something that was a cross between a gasp and a groan. 

Kato's eyes flew open at that sound even as his body lost control, and their gazes locked; Britt's eyes wide and staring and Kato's hazy with pleasure. Britt was suddenly all too aware of his body's betrayal, the desire that he should never feel for his friend hidden by no more than a thin pair of pajama pants. Kato's eyes flicked downwards, and Britt fought the belated urge to cover that treacherous part of him. 

"Sorry. I . . . sorry," Britt managed, voice thick and rough, and he stumbled back, hurrying up the stairs to his room in a half-daze. His bed had cooled in his absence, and the cotton sheets were a welcome anodyne to his overheated skin. 

He wondered for a moment if he should take a cold shower, but his body _liked_ the feeling, and he _knew_ with painful clarity just how long it had been since he'd shared a woman's bed. Groaning, he wrapped his fingers around himself, gasping in not-so-quiet relief as the slow pump of his hand encouraged his body to demand more. 

"Britt?" 

The voice was quiet, one he knew almost better than his own, and it came from the doorway. His hand stilled, part of him growling at the interruption while the rest wanted to turn away and pretend he hadn't heard. Neither option seemed to be affecting his need, though. 

"Kato." His voice was just as deep and scratchy as it had been downstairs. "I . . ." 

". . . need a hand?" 

Britt nearly choked at the amused implications in Kato's voice. "I . . . it's not . . . there's no obligation, Kato. I can deal with this myself." 

"What if I want to?" Kato's voice was closer now, and Britt opened eyes that he hadn't even realized were closed to see a familiar shadow standing beside his bed. 

Britt's breath hitched again, and he remembered the breathless _Britt_ coming out of Kato's mouth only minutes before. His cock twitched insistently in his lax grip. "If . . . if I say yes . . . will it . . ." 

"Change things?" 

"Yeah." 

"Not if you don't want it to." 

Britt's breath was coming in deep pants now, and even as his mind couldn't help thinking about all the ways in which this could go wrong, his body had no such reservations. "Okay." 

The bed dipped under Kato's weight, and Britt found himself looking up into dark eyes as the other man straddled his thighs. He'd wondered for a fleeting moment if this would feel strange, but somehow it didn't. Kato watched his back; that was part of the deal, and with Kato over him, he felt protected. Safe. 

Kato's hand closed around his, gently urging him into motion, and _that_ didn't feel strange either. Britt moaned, rocking his hips up as they pumped him together, and he gasped in surprise as Kato's free hand caressed his chest. 

Britt had always thought that the trade-in for his high pain threshold was dulled nerves, both on the surface of his skin and under it, and he'd counted that cheap at the price given how often the Green Hornet got hit, bruised, cut and otherwise injured. This, though . . . Kato was using the backs of his short nails on Britt's exposed skin, just enough pressure so that he could feel it, but not enough to leave even the shallowest scratch. He shuddered, hips losing their rhythm, and Kato pressed a little harder. The sensation drew out another involuntary moan, and he lost track of time for a while. Desire was measured in gasping breaths and speeding heartbeats and the metronome movement of their joined hands, and then suddenly the tide surged and he barely had the chance to stutter "K-Kato . . ." before his release pitched him off the top of the mountain he'd been running up. 

Kato's touch was his parachute, gliding his shocky body down into a soft landing, and Britt made a sound that could almost be classed as a whimper as Kato stroked him through it. Gradually, his breathing slowed, and he met Kato's eyes once more. Feeling languorous and open in the wake of orgasm, Britt had the distant feeling that he really should be freaking out about this. In that moment, however, it was difficult to remember why. 

Kato's hand uncurled from over his, and Britt made a protesting noise at the loss of touch. Kato's look grew questioning, belatedly reminding Britt of basic courtesy. "Thanks," he said quietly, their joined gaze proof that it was honestly said. 

"No problem." 

Kato's weight disappeared from his thighs, and Britt reached out to stop his friend before his brain could intervene. "Hey, wait. Where are you going?" 

"To get you a damp towel," Kato said, as if it was the most obvious answer ever. "You need to clean up." 

"Oh." Britt thought about that as Kato disappeared briefly, his return marked by the warm semi-rough touch of the towel that roused him from his sleepy reverie. "It's okay, Kato. I'll do it." 

Kato surrendered the towel, standing in his familiar attentive pose by the bed despite his lack of uniform, and Britt watched Kato as he mopped himself clean. "Do you need anything else?" Kato asked, as if this was simply a case of bringing coffee or the phonebook. 

Britt opened his mouth, hesitated, then forged ahead, dropping the towel off the edge of the bed. He could pick it up in the morning. "Do you want to stay here tonight?" 

One of Kato's dark brows arched. "Here?" 

"Here. In my bed." Spoken aloud, it sounded twice as awkward. 

Kato's eyebrow remained raised. "I thought you didn't want things to change." 

"We can discuss that in the morning. If you want to." 

Kato nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. Move over." 

"What – oh." Britt shifted over to the right-hand side of the bed, leaving space for Kato to lay down beside him. There was no embrace, no cuddling as had been the case with several of his ladyfriends, but the press of Kato's bare shoulder to his own felt like all the contact he needed. "Sleep well, Kato." 

"You too." 

This time, Britt was asleep almost as soon as his eyes closed. 

* * *

Britt woke slowly, a tickling softness touching his left shoulder. He felt content, sated, and it took a moment for him to remember what had happened last night. 

_Ah. Kato happened._

He turned his head to the side to see Kato's dark-haired head tucked against his shoulder, and couldn't help the fond smile that found its way onto his face. It seemed right, somehow - the deep trust and friendship between them maturing into something more. With a little luck, Kato felt the same. It had certainly seemed . . .

"You need a shower," Kato mumbled into his shoulder. "And I am going to wash the sheets before I get back in your bed. You must have sweated through them last night." 

"Uh, okay," Britt said. "Is this the bit where we talk about it in the morning?" 

Kato lifted his head and fixed Britt with an exasperated look. "There are two options. Either last night will not happen again, or it will. I can live with either option." 

Britt might have considered longer, but he could remember Kato calling his name, remember that sure touch, remember how . . . how _happy_ he'd felt to wake up with Kato beside him. "Personally, I'd prefer option two." 

"Good. So do I. Now get up, you have a shower to take, and I need to make breakfast." 

Britt looked at the clock, cursed briefly, and rolled out of bed. Then he hesitated, turned, and leaned down so that his face was above Kato's. "Do you . . . I mean . . ." 

Kato rolled his eyes, wrapped a hand around the back of Britt's head, and pulled him down into a warm kiss.


	3. Epilogue

"Mmm-hmm. Okay. Thanks. That's good to know." Britt put the office phone down and looked up into the expectant face of his secretary. "The McKennas are doing okay. A bit shaken up, but that's understandable. Emily doesn't seem to be suffering any long-term side effects."

"Oh, that's good," Casey said with visible relief. "I heard the fire engines go past my apartment last night. It must have been awful. I'm glad you got out okay. How's Kato doing?"

Britt shrugged, invisible mask firmly in place. "As well as ever. He's moved up laundry day - apparently he objects to me coming home smelling like smoke." 

That, as expected, won a chuckle from Casey. 

"Anna says she'll be back at work on Thursday. Oh, and she also says that Victor has been banned from gambling." 

Casey nodded, her mouth opening to reply as the door to Britt's office was thrown open. "Britt Reid, I'm _disappointed_ in you!" Mike Axford said emphatically, stomping over to Britt's desk and waving the day's edition of the _Daily Sentinel_ under his nose. "A major incident with the Green Hornet, and you don't even bother to call me!" 

"Mike, you were on _holiday_ ," Britt pointed out in exasperation. "A well-deserved one, at that. I don't think you've taken a whole week off in the past two years." 

"That's not the _point_ ," Axford argued, gesturing wide with the newspaper. "The _Green Hornet_ , Britt. Gambling rings, arson, and that poor kidnapped girl – who knows what the Green Hornet did to her?" 

"He probably didn't do anything, Mike," Britt retorted, raising his voice to get his point across. "Or have you forgotten that it was the Campbell brothers who kidnapped her, not the Hornet?" 

Axford shook his head in disgust. "Sometimes I wonder if you're sympathetic to that crook," he grumped, stalking towards the exit. He stopped in the door to throw back a final reprimand. "Your old man would be _horrified_." 

The door clicked closed, and Britt murmured, "Oh, I think he might understand." 

"Poor Mike. He's not as flexible as you are," Casey said sympathetically, watching the irritated journalist flounce across the city room floor. 

"Maybe that's a good thing," Britt said thoughtfully, laughter sparking in his eyes. "Can you imagine _him_ as the Green Hornet?" 

Casey shot him a startled look, then laughed. Britt joined her, and the walls of his office echoed back their mirth.


End file.
